Free Tom Swift and His Deep Sea Hydrodome by Victor Appleton II

was afraid you’d be in mourning over the loss of your invention."
    "Its rebirth is going along swiftly, Harlan. But we’ve got to identify the saboteur before anything else happens." Tom keyed open the door and they went inside.
    The smashed repelatron was still lying on and about its framework tower, along with Tom’s scribbled calculations and hasty sketches strewn about a work-table nearby.
    "Apparently the, er, assailant didn’t take anything," Ames remarked.
    "This stuff wouldn’t do him much good," Tom replied. "What I’m worried about are the original plans."
    Taking an electronic key from his pocket, Tom flicked a combination and beamed it at a steel wall cabinet. As the door slid open, he reached in and drew out a sheaf of blueprints.
    "Still here!" the young inventor exclaimed in relief. "He either didn’t have the time to search out the blueprints—or maybe his only intention was to do damage."
    Satisfied that the secret of Tom’s new invention was safe, Ames began to dust the laboratory for fingerprints. Unfortunately it soon became apparent that the intruder had worn gloves. Even the discarded length of pipe revealed nothing useful.
    Suddenly the security chief heard a cry of excitement from the young inventor.
    "Find something?" he inquired.
    Tom held out a small wad of tangled threads that looked as if they might have been torn from a piece of fabric.
    "Where did you find this?" Ames asked.
    "Right here, dangling from the workbench where the two strips of molding corner together," Tom replied. "Probably got ripped off when he was rooting around among the loose papers. Wait a second. I’ll put it under a microscope!"
    Going over to another table, Tom slipped the strands into place under the lens, then peered through the eyepiece and twirled the adjusting knob.
    "Take a look," he said a moment later.
    Both Harlan Ames and Tom examined the find with minute care. Apparently the fabric had been woven from dark blue and white cotton threads, with artificial fibers intertwined.
    "Any idea where they might have come from?" Tom asked.
    Ames frowned. "Yes. A pretty good one. This looks like the kind of material worn by the maintenance tech teams—anti-shock, anti-fire, chemical-resistant and easy to clean."
    "Maintenance tech teams," repeated Tom thoughtfully. "Like Wes Beale’s crew, the guys who worked on the pressure-test tank!"
    Beale was off for the day, but Tom and Ames were able to locate the three senior technicians by consulting the work-assignment schedules at the main building. Their names were Smith, Tonas, and Niffman. Their present team assignment was at Hangar E, where several experimental aircraft were berthed between test flights.
    "I hate this," Tom confessed. "Wes Beale vouched for these guys—they’re his friends."
    "I’m afraid that puts Wes under suspicion himself. Want me to haul ’em in for questioning?" Ames asked.
    The young inventor shook his head thoughtfully. "Better not. If one of them’s guilty, he’ll bolt when he gets the message that you want to see him. Let’s head over to the hangar right now and catch them before they leave for lunch. I doubt the intruder will get too frisky in the face of both of us."
    They drove over to Hangar E. As they walked in, their manner casual and unalarming, Doke Smith, a sandy-haired, husky young fellow of twenty-three, was tinkering with the afterburner of a sleek racing jet.
    "Hi, Tom!" he greeted Tom cheerfully. Catching sight of Harlan Ames, he grinned. "What’re you doin’ here, Mr. Ames? Planning a little flyin’ spree? This one here’s a real beauty."
    "That she is. Planes—I can’t keep away from ’em," Ames bantered, somewhat unconvincingly. "Say, where’d you get that rip in your work suit?"
    "What rip?" Smith looked surprised as he noticed a tear along one leg, high up. "Oh, that. Search me. Caught it on an engine cowling, 1 guess."
    The other two mechanics were busy in different parts of the hangar. Tom and Harlan